


something that's bigger than pulling the trigger (I need to believe)

by sprx77



Series: Warm Ups (that inevitably set me on fire) [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: (Brief choking that's not violent), Blowjobs, Breathplay, Choking, FaceFucking, Facials, Hair-pulling, M/M, One (1) line of dialogue and it's aborted with cock, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: Tobirama never feels more alive than when he can’t breathe.With a cock heavy on his tongue and a thumb rough with promise at his carotid, he can feel every inch of his skin. He fancies he can feel each nerve firing, tense pulses of pleasure unfurling over and over like a breathing thing from the core of him.





	something that's bigger than pulling the trigger (I need to believe)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Uintuva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uintuva/gifts).
  * Inspired by [mercy and torment, all the sweeter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237230) by [PandaFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaFlower/pseuds/PandaFlower). 

> In case it pleases you, Tobirama's genitals aren't mentioned by name. Merely that his pants are wet with excitement, which could be from any number of parts-combinations. He still uses he/him pronouns but the rest is up to you. 
> 
> It's not literally inspired by the 'inspired by' fic, the universes and motivation and everything are completely different, BUT I was deeply affected by Tobirama and blowjobs so it's a nice gesture to link back @ me buddy with several thumbs up

Tobirama never feels more alive than when he can’t breathe. With a cock heavy on his tongue and a thumb rough with promise at his carotid, he can feel every inch of his skin. He fancies he can feel each nerve firing, tense pulses of pleasure unfurling over and over like a breathing thing from the core of him.

He clenches, hard, and Kakashi smiles like he can see it. A red eye watches him, tomoe spinning lazily, and Tobirama tries to swallow. Is reminded, abruptly, that he can’t. Who knows what that eye can do?

The flex of flesh against the roof of his mouth makes him hyperaware of every millimeter of contact. Sensation _flares_, like a berry bursting with flavor, staining his tongue and palate. It shivers through the back of his throat, swallows down as he cannot, and rests like a handful of embers where a hand is wrapped lovingly around his throat, barely any pressure at all.

It can go no further, but Kakashi can. The sensory spike is brushed away by his movement, insistent hips shifting forward, and as Kakashi moves from foot to foot to get his footing his cock presses Tobirama’s mouth wider. Thick, velvet-steel skin presses against the insides of his cheeks.

His shoulders roll forward, half hunching before Tobirama orders them back. It’s instinct to fold around his mouthful, hard to ignore. His hands are pressed against well-muscled thighs as a convenient wall. It makes his position even more—more. The cock in his mouth feels _obvious_, large and unmistakable.

White spots dance at the edges of his vision and Kakashi _knows_, somehow. He pulls his cock back slow, a lazy unhurried drag of catching flesh that prompts a _vicious_ and _sympathetic _clench—so distracting as to overwhelm his common sense. He takes maybe half a breath, belated, before Kakashi guides himself back in.

He can’t take his attention away from the hand on his throat. It doesn’t move—Kakashi’s cock does, achingly slow, teasing—not increasing in pressure even as—the pull and the push are equally torturous, giving air and taking it away again—his airway is closed once more. It only _feels_ like it’s increased, like he’s being held down—though he is upright—and the steady hold is a layer of madness through the slow press.

White hair tickles his nose and Tobirama wants to pant—to let his mouth fall open and saliva slick the way for the quick and hard _abuse _of his throat—but this is almost better, almost—

He sucks, absently, and Kakashi—damn him—doesn’t give Tobirama so much as an _inch_ more. He smiles, actually, and Tobirama growls but it’s broken by another shudder. His lungs burn. Between his legs, heat _sings_.

Tobirama works his tongue along the underside, enjoying the warmth, the taste, the way Kakashi steps so minutely from foot to foot. The way his callused free hand strokes his hair, the back of his neck, his temple.

Black edges in from the corners of his vision, fluttery-soft. Kakashi pulls back again but this time Tobirama is ready, this time—

Kakashi shifts his hips back, the thick drag over Tobirama’s tongue, but before he can take a breath his cock is _shoved_ forward, brushing the back of his throat. Tobirama _moans_, startled, panting. He works his jaw around it briefly before it’s gone again, another—

A fucking _thrust_ and he mouths, helpless, holding on to bunching thigh muscles as Kakashi sets up a pace he can’t keep up with, as he forgets to breathe and greedily sucks in cock more than air, cheeks hollowed. Spit follows his tongue, slicking the way, and it’s _everything_.

There’s nothing you can pay attention to when a cock’s thrusting past your lips, over and over; the slow numbing, the shortness of breath, the _insistent_ awareness of his mouth and airways. The hearty weight of it, drowning out everything else.

Tobirama can do nothing else but _take_, suck and try to keep Kakashi’s cock in, and he follows on the ebb, aching for it. The hands on him let him move, allowing if not encouraging, and he bobs his head in a steadfast rhythm.

He works his throat around Kakashi, but Kakashi doesn’t care, doesn’t try to meet his rhythm; he stays resolutely at his own pace and Tobirama would snarl if his mouth wasn’t full. He tries to meet him, tries to speed up, tries for some measure of speed or control and bares his teeth the slightest bit when his efforts are met with failure.

_That_ prompts a reaction, a tightening at his throat, and Tobirama shouts around cock as his body’s priorities shift. There’s a hand around his throat, red exclamation points inked out, and his pants are wet with building silver pleasure, friction against his genitals hyper-sensitive and rough. Kakashi’s cock brushes the back of his throat mercilessly and Tobirama can’t help how he tries to swallow around it, over and over, how his hands clench and try to keep him there.

An easing—the fingers peel off from his throat and for a moment he redoubles his efforts, headless of the dizzying rush of blood returned—but hands slip back into his hair and _tug_. His head is pulled off Kakashi’s flushed cock and his chin tilted up, neck bared. He glares, just because he can.

Kakashi looks, as ever, unimpressed. His cock throbs, red and angry, pearl liquid forming at the tip and this time Tobirama does snarl, wincing when the hands in his hair don’t move and his movement pulls at the roots.

He curves his own hands around, presses them tight against the back of Kakashi’s thighs and tries to urge him forward. Kakashi allows it, but doesn’t slip back in. Instead, his cockhead butts uselessly against Tobirama’s cheek, his nose—smears precome in a line to his jaw. Tobirama strains against an unforgiving grip, tries to mouth at it.

Kakashi releases one hand—he moves forward, but not _enough_, the grip still more than enough even one handed—and wraps it around his cock like a _tease_. Over half of it slips out of his fist, wet from spit and dark from stimulation, and Tobirama’s jaw drops further. He can feel saliva building, wanting—

He’s drooling for it and he swallows, head flexing and pulling his hair again.

Kakashi strokes himself slow.

“You sick son of a bitch—” Tobirama starts, only to be interrupted by that tip drawing slow circles around his lips like a balm. He shakes. His toes curl uselessly into the floor.

Tobirama can only watch, tongue darting out to meet Kakashi’s fist on the upstroke—until the hand in his hair yanks him back even further, preventing even _that_—he _hisses_—

And Kakashi spills, white ropes painting his hand, Tobirama’s open mouth, and pulling back so some hit his cheek, his jaw, his collar bones and pale shoulders.

Some might land in his hair; he’s not sure.

Tobirama is beyond caring, eyes fixed on the rough hand gently stroking Kakashi through completion. _Please, Sage, fuck_—

He doesn’t know what Kakashi sees in his face, but the hand in his hair gently eases out, a barely-there pain of released tension stinging his scalp. Tobirama could _cry_. He lunges forward and sucks down the still-hard cock before it can deflate, _relishing_ in Kakashi’s sucked-in breath, pained and startled, absolutely _living_ in the jagged and aborted push into the warm, wet heat of his mouth.

Kakashi _groans_, both hands petting his hair as if in apology, and Tobirama sucks him until he winces with every tiny involuntary thrust. And then for a few moments more, until he tries to get away. Only then does Tobirama let the mostly soft flesh fall from his lips, panting and breathless.

His heart races in his chest. Every beat is like fresh air after drowning, love after nearly dying, laughter after a battle where everyone you love is fine. His lungs fight for air and Tobirama stands on fawn legs, stumbling as Kakashi catches him and kissing the other shinobi until the need for air threatens his consciousness.

He is so, so very _alive._


End file.
